Skin
by Tince
Summary: Laundry day takes a turn for the... unexpected. - *A spot of Rayne.


Disclaimer: Yeah,_ not so much _with the ownership and whatnot.

A/N: This is a sort of [very loose] continuation I wrote to "Muscle". I mean, there was no plan in mind when I wrote that or this, but Jayne's train of thought follows from that story. Enjoy ;)

**Skin**

by Tince

Jayne Cobb was confused.

Now he weren't the brightest star in the 'verse and that didn't bother him none, but he could clearly recognise a female's unders when he saw 'em. And last he checked, he his'self didn't own no gorram_ lace panties_.

He'd been standing in the laundry, in the cold underbelly o' the ship, sortin' his dark browns from his, uh... _lighter _browns ('cause it was somethin' his Ma'd near hammered into his head), when he'd hear the com crackle and Mal yellin' at him to go to the cargo bay. He'd grabbed his ready-sorted load of whites and shoved em' into the groanin' old washer, before taking the stairs two-at-a-time to shut Mal the hell up.

When he'd come back, the cycle was done, and he grabbed the whites, shovin' 'em into the dryer without lookin'. The BEEP! announced the end of the dryin' time and Jayne had walked over, grabbed the lot of 'em, plunked 'em on the ironing board and started foldin'. He'd been wrestlin' with an undershirt when he could feel something caught inside. Shovin' his hand through, and expectin' a sock, he could tell it weren't nothin' of the sort when his hand closed over something that was _clearly _fem-_i-_nine.

Hooked on his thumb, the offending article of clothing dangled innocently in front of him. Innocent, my _pi gu_, he thought. Was this a joke? Mal tryin' his gorram best to be funny again? (Although, he admitted, if'n it was the Doc, the shade of red he'd a turned... it would have been _hi_-larious.)

But naw, Mal's telltale snigger (nor anyone's else's laughs neither) were nowhere to be heard. And what kind of practical joke was made in private, so no one else ne'er saw it happen?

Nah, most likely one of the womenfolk's washin' had gotten mixed up with his. Still, he thought, that was strange. Damn near four years he'd been on this boat, and no one's stuff had ever gotten mixed up with his.

Oh well, he chalked it up to a first time for everythin'.

And they were _real_ nice too... he'd always had a thing for lace. Whores never wore lace— too fussy, he'd imagine (rather'n expensive too) and that ain't what a 'body was payin' for anyway. But every now and then, he'd see in vids on the Cortex, that a lot of 'em fancy, _soft_, Core-kinda girls wore lace things - shawls and gloves and the 'like.

...never knew they made 'em in unders though. Right pretty... damn sexy too, if he was honest. There was somethin' _delicate_ about them, and well - they were roughly the size of his hand (Convenient, he couldn't help but grin).

Inara's, he thought. Had to be. Normally, that thought would give him some pause, and he's would'a been like to get _real_ acquaint'd with that idea, but now... didn't seem right no more. All the women on the boat had (or in Zoe's case, still thought of) their men, who themselves were his sorta.. y'know, _friends_, and teasin' was one thing but he didn't like thinkin' on 'em_, _in _that_ way, no more. A free woman or a whore's one thing, but the others, after the past few months, it didn't feel right.

Yeah, the women were off-limits in his mind... well, most of the women. No, he stopped himself. Don't think about that.

Zoe never really had been - y'know, '_on _limits'. He'd teased and attempted to flirt with her since he'd met her, and that had never changed. It bugged Wash (it didn't surprise Jayne, the sting that still came with the name) and she'd known he was doin' it to get a rise, so she ignored him. Plus she was dead scary when irritated. With Kaylee, he'd stopped for good once her and the Doc had made it _real_ obvious they were an item (his ears were still ringin' from that night... could hear damn near _everythin_' on this ship). He didn't want no other man's women, especially if'n that man was... not so bad. Yeah, the Doc's was okay.

Inara... well, she was prime material for a spell there, but eventually, that wore away too. She was such a damn mystery to him, with the bracelets and the tea and the burnin' sticks and whatnot, and clearly, Mal'n her had their own 'verse full of issues to sort through, so he didn't want none of that. And, sometimes - it was like Mal could read his mind. Not like Crazy could, but the Cap'n would just _look _ at him sometimes like he exactly what he was thinkin'. Downright unsettlin' to a man. So he stopped, y'know... just in case the _hun dan_ got protective of the not-really-his-but-wants-to-her-to-be girl.

Speakin' of Moonbrain... no, he gritted his teeth, I'm not going there - but his mind somehow rattled on, ahead of his protestin' brain - maybe they were _hers._

_Lao tyen yeh. _

He'd been tryin' to avoid thoughts of her just _generally_, but now... with the piece of clothing in his hand, things were likely to become real _dangerous_. He looked at the item in his hand again.

All of a sudden, it was like the temperature had gone up thirty degrees. The back of his neck (among other things) felt hot. Maybe the temp valve knocked out again? _Not ruttin' likely, _his own annoyin' brain retorted.

He grunted to himself. How was he in this mess? With the other women, he'd thought on 'em before but now, he was uncomfortable and so he didn't no more. With Ri-the _feng le_ girl, he hadn't really thought on her ever, _but_ now - try and try as he might to avoid it - he was gettin' a little _too_ comfortable thinkin' about her.

He tried desperately to think of somethin' else, because as much as his head was screamin' at him to stop and think, he could feel himself gettin'..._interested_ at the thought of Crazy's unders in his hands.

As to the 'why', he had no earthly clue. Well, he had a _few _clues... she was _damn_ pretty if'n he was just bein' honest and those legs o'hers could haunt a man ('specially him, he groaned). But he felt so unsettl'd about thinkin' on her in _that_ way. Normally, a cute girl (or not even _that _cute, he admitted) and he'd indulge any fantasies he had proper-like. But with the Jelly Brain... seemed _wrong_, somehow.

An explanation hit him. It's the age, he thought. I'm old enough to be her... well, not her Pa - but it didn't matter, he was old _enough_. She's just a little girl.

...who didn't talk or look or _move_ like a little girl, his treacherous brain responded. Well, that wasn't helpin' none.

He took a deep, [hopefully] calmin' breath before he heard a distinctive, high-pitched...

"Those are mine."

...and all the air whooshed out again, faster somehow than when it'd come in.

'Course they were. He figured the entire 'verse was conspirin' to get him thrown out'ta the airlock, so why the gorram hell _would _the lace strip in his hand belong to anyone other than Moony?

He should have guessed. His pants felt about three sizes too small.

He didn't turn around, but he could _feel_ ('cause she was so ruttin' quiet-like when she moved) her get closer from the door. No one on this damn boat could sneak up on him, but Moony (...and only 'cause he was thinkin' real hard, he told himself. Distracted, that's why). He didn't say nothin' and took a moment to collect himself. Pissed, go with 'pissed' - always works, he thought.

Assuming he hadn't heard her, she repeated, "The underthings in your grasp belong to the Girl. She is here to collect."

He made an irritated grunt, "Why the hell are your ...uh, _things _with my laundry, Crazy? I ain't your maid, your mother... or your brother, and I ain't gettin' paid to do your washin'".

She smiled (he swallowed, he didn't like when she did that... gave him'n _uncomfortableness_) and responded, "The cycle is limited in both time and availability. Seized the opportunity. White loses itself and becomes a part of white. Didn't think Not-A-Girl would mind."

He seethed. "Two things, Moonbrain. First off, I ever give you any indication that I would do anythin' BUT mind? Second, I've told you to stop with that girl stuff damn near twenty times now, and you better go ahead and look to that or I'm like to get real angry, _dong ma_?

She smiled wider, and he frowned. He didn't think the message got through _quite _the way he wanted.

When she didn't say anything, he got fed up and barked "What?" at her.

"Anger and fury and rage and passion and lust can come from different places, times... feelings. But they always swirl and gush and dance together in_ red_."

Huh. He looked at her. What was that bit about "lust" again?

He glanced at the girl confused, and when she just stared back with that creepifyin' smile of hers (but it seemed different - _softer _somehow... _gentler_), he made to turn around again.

But before he could, the crazy girl reached up on her toes and touched his face.

_Wha...?_

Jayne could'a sworn he heard a definite _scccrreeecchh!_ noise as his brain halted to a stop.

He was about to reach up and get her hand off (keep things safer, he reckon'd) when the tiny, cool (and _sinfully soft, _he noticed regretfully) hand on his face slowly _stroked_ his cheek.

... yeah, that was _not _helpin' in all kinds of torturin' ways.

It pissed him off (amongst a coupl'a other things) that the girl just touchin' his cheek made him feel like he was thirteen years old again, his heart beatin' out'ta his chest. He was almost forty _gorram_ years old, had tussled with dozens (prob'ly hundreds) of professional working girls, and yet... Moony and her hand on his face were near drivin' him outta his mind.

He opened his mouth, hopin' to get a growl out - cuss her out - when she cut him off with a small, sexy (he felt his throat go dry at the thought) grin, "It doesn't matter. Displeasure or desire. He _always_ looks better in red."

And with that, she made to glide out of the room. Jayne, attempting to get his breath and voice back at the same time (_what_ the ruttin' hell had just happened there?), tried desperately to brush things off as Crazy being Crazy. Didn't want her (..or himself) to get the _wrong _idea.

He yelled at her retreating form, but just before she was through the doorway, "Well, y'know what Moonbrain? I don't give a _fei fei de pi yan_ how good ya' may look in _white_, but keep your gorram stuff out'n a ways away from mine!"

There. He went back to his foldin'. He felt better now. Covered his tracks. Given nothing away.

"Jayne?"

_Wo de ma. _Couldn't Crazy just leave him in peace? He looked up to see her standin' in the doorway. She looked tiny, even from there, like he could snap her in half no problem (...if she was knocked out, tied up, and choosing not to fight back). No trouble at all.

Innocent.

... that is, until he saw the look on her face. Jayne knew he was it was going to be bad, _real_ bad, before she even said a thing. Like the way the animals know right 'fore a storm.

The corners of her mouth turned up, and she looked straight at him with that dangerous smile again.

"...I look pretty good in _red _too."

_Ai ya._

Oh sweet Buddha, Crazy was going to kill him one of these days - problem was, he wasn't sure he minded too much.

* * *

Around the corner, River grinned.

He was too _gorram_ easy.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are just so damn shiny, I couldn't even tell you... :D


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